David

Dear David Goggins, 

You always show up after Chad. While he’s passed out like the fool that he is, you catapult yourself through the window like Spiderman. You slap the spoon out of my hand and the chocolate chip ice cream splatters against the wall. Chad is too drunk to wake, but he stirs. 

“What the fuck have you done to yourself, you fucking fool?” you shout at me in your deep, strong voice. I just look up, startled, wanting to cry. 

“I don’t know,” I whimper. 

“You let that punk ass bitch into this house again, didn’t you?” you scream in my face, spit hitting my cheek. 

“Yes,” I admit, swallowing. 

“And now we are right back to where we were last night, aren’t we?” you demand. 

“Yes, Sir,” I answer. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize to me, bitch! Apologize to yourself!”

I look down, glancing around at the countertop of proof that I failed. 

“Say it,” you yell when I just sit there. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. 

“Like you mean it!” you scream. 

“I’m sorry,” I say louder. And boy do I mean it. 

Like all the food voices, I have mixed feelings about you, David. 

Part of me feels such relief when your huge frame casts its shadow over Chad’s beer belly. Your scoff at him brings me comfort. 

But then, as you unleash the truth onto me, I hate myself like ever before. You tell me how weak I am. How I let a bag of Fritos beat me. How ice cream made me its bitch. All that is true and it all hurts. Sometimes I’d rather your huge fist just punch me in the face rather than your words punch me in the soul. Because you, David Goggins, tell it like it is and like-it-is in that moment is soooo painful. So fat. So regretful. So weak. 

But then, you pick me back up. You tell me I can turn this around. You start to pump me up, like a fighter in the corner of the ring. 

“It’s what you do next that will define you,” you tell me. “What’s done is done. Now let’s kick the shit out of tomorrow.” I appreciate your pep talks. I believe them. Thank you for dragging me out of the dark hole into which Chad had lured me and convincing me that there can still be light. Your colorful language and countless F-bombs work to give me hope that tomorrow will be better.  

But that’s when Suzy comes in. I know you could crush Suzy but you have other things to do.

You’re gone as fast as you came, off to run a marathon. Because unlike me, you have discipline, drive, and follow-through. I’m a failure. A fraud. A hack. And Suzy is here to remind me of that.